BAD HABIT
by emoprincessmikey
Summary: Self-indulgent, self-inflicted habits are the hardest to break. Is there any way to free yourself of the bonds of self-destruction? Or are you fated to suffer alone with your secrets? Flack/Messer slash. M for angst/lang. ONESHOT.


**BAD HABIT**

_Cut __one__ was for just waking up that morning- Always._

_Cut __two__ was for the hangover throbbing in his head-Always._

_Cut __three__ was for just being alive one more day._

_Cut __four__ was for going to work- Hung over._

_Cut __five__ was for answering the phone and catching his father._

_Cut __six__ was for taking the abuse without so much as a protest._

_Cut __seven__ was for the all pervading exhaustion. _

_Cut __eight__ was for the recurring nightmares that made no sense._

_Cut __nine__ was for forgetting to stop at the liquor store on his way home._

_Cut __ten__ was for finding the house empty of alcohol._

_Cuts __eleven__ through __fourteen__ were for drinking the last can of beer for breakfast. _

_Cuts __sixteen__ through __nineteen__ were for remembering he forgot to turn in two late case files._

_Cut __twenty__ was for realizing that he didn't care._

_Cuts __twenty-one__ through__ twenty-six__ were for the sense of helplessness._

_Cut __twenty-seven__ through __thirty__ were for being so lonely it hurt. _

_Cuts __thirty-one__ through __thirty-six__ were for catching _him_ with _her

_Cuts __thirty-seven__ through __forty-one__ were for watching _him_ with _her.

_Cut __forty-one__ was for just standing there, gawking in horror unable to look away._

_Cuts __forty-two__ through __forty-five__ were for the scream on his lips he had kept to himself._

_Cut __forty-six__ was for smiling afterwards like nothing had happened._

_Cut __forty-seven__ was for wanting to kill them both._

_Cut __forty-eight__ was for his suspicion. _

_Cut __forty-nine__ was for his insecurity. _

_Cut __fifty__ was for his breaking heart..._

Time to switch arms. His fingers were coated in blood and the small blade slipped slightly between them. He grit his teeth in a feral kind of grin as he made the first cut into the unmarked flesh.

_Cut __fifty-one__ was for what was left of his sanity._

_Cut __fifty-two__ was for cutting a little _too_ deep on fifty-one._

_Cut __fifty-three__ was for his anger at and for _him.

_Cut __fifty-four__ was for his anger at the rest of _them.

_Cuts __fifty-five and six__ were for his anger at himself. _

_Cuts __fifty-seven_ through _sixty-five__ were for the self-loathing._

_Cut __sixty-six__ was for being a coward._

_Cuts __sixty-seven_ through _seventy-one__ were for randomly remembering the last time they had sex._

_Cut __seventy-two__ went too deep again._

_Cuts __seventy-three_ through _eighty-two__ were for having any sort of vain hope that things would…_could_ ever get better…_

_Cuts __eighty-three_through_ ninety __were for his naivety and stupidity. _

_Cut __ninety-one__ was for the constant dull ache in his chest._

_Cut __ninety-two__ was for skipping lunch and dinner._

_Cut __ninety-three__ was for the weird spinning sensation._

_Cut __ninety-four__ was for suddenly feeling sick._

_Cut __ninety-five__ was for the endless guilt._

_Cut __ninety-six__ was for the shame._

_Cut __ninety-seven__was for being a liar._

_Cut __ninety-eight__ was for the fact that he was dying- Slowly._

_Cut __ninety-nine__ was for all the tears shed, past, present and future-Always._

_Cut __one hundred__ was for giving into the temptation- __**Always. **_

Don Flack settled against the edge of the tub, both his bleeding arms propped over said edge dripping slowly on to the white porcelain in large drops. He reveled in the pain of each throbbing cut. The pain he could understand, deal with, something concrete he could think about other than his shattered heart.

He sighed and turned the faucet on so a small rivulet ran into the bottom of the tub. The water mixed with blood below his outstretched arms making it appear as if he were bleeding twice as violently. Don watched the first red tinged stream swirl and eddy around the drain before being sucked down in to the pipe filled oblivion that ran through the heart of the city.

Don looked at his cuts with a sort of morbid satisfaction. Each of the _exactly_ one hundred cuts was _exactly_ the same depth _except_ for those two- fifty-two and seventy- two that were a tad on the excessively deep side. Flack watched each little red slit bubble single drops that all ran together and off his extended fingers.

It had been nearly two weeks since the last time Don had the urge to cut himself; it had been his new longest record for resisting. But today had changed all of that, it had only taken _one_ glimpse of them to make the urge so strong he had wanted to lock himself up in the bathroom right there in the precinct and slice the hell out of himself.

Sometimes he wondered if Danny ever saw him, "Am I invisible to you?" he asked aloud, "Do you think I'm made of stone and can't feel anything?"

His gaze was fixed on the bleeding gashes, the red liquid proving that he was not in fact made of stone, but a living, breathing human being who was hurting deeply. Why did it seem like Danny Messer went out of his way to make his interactions with Lindsey Monroe _so _fucking _obvious? _It drove Flack literally _insane._ Like today, she was crawling all over him at lunch, and he was enjoying it! All that cuddling and snuggling- Don had almost retreated to the locker room right then and there to find some comfort in his little ritual.

There was playing the part to keep their relationship a secret, like they had agreed on from the beginning, but then there was going too fucking far! A fine line. But it really begged the question- did they really have a relationship at all? Had they _ever_?

A single angry tear fell into the tub to mingle with the bloody water. Don let his forehead fall to the tub edge with a soft thump. He didn't even feel the pain anymore, the numbness was setting in- he had accomplished his goal once again. The blood flow was slowing, beginning to clot thickly in lines on his pale skin.

He _did_ feel better now. It truly was a relief to finally to let the grief and anger out again. Of course now he would have to be careful about hiding the marks, keep them from bleeding at inappropriate times. But most painful and inconvenient of all he would have to put his 'happy carefree' mask back on. He would have to pretend that nothing at all was wrong and that he wasn't dying slowly and painfully inside.

That was the thing that hurt the most, the reason why he felt like he was loosing his mind every single day he was forced to deal with the world outside the bathroom walls; and it was getting harder and harder to put that mask on day after day. Don Flack dreaded the day when his mask finally shattered- then there would be truly nothing left of him but an empty, hollow shell. Nothing too different than he was now but lacking that last shred of humanity.

"Hey you." Danny Messer said softly, sitting on the edge of Don's desk and peering into his face.

Don looked up in surprise, his pupils expanding hugely in his deep blue eyes. His heart stopped beating as Danny's face came into focus. "Hey." He replied trying to keep his voice level and uninterested.

Danny's brow wrinkled slightly as he carefully inspected his lover's face. Flack was pale, with dark circles under his eyes telling Danny that he hadn't been sleeping well for some time, and there was just something stiff and odd about his movements. Nothing he could pin down literally, just a feeling that something was _off_ about his manner.

Don glanced at his computer screen for a second as it changed windows, then looked back up at Danny inquisitively.

"You don't look so good babe," Danny said with honest concern.

"Thanks." Don shot back, "I'm fine." This was said more defensively then he intended. It was almost midnight, and he had just worked a double shift to cover for Angell, and he had only about ten more minutes before he could go home and crash. But here was Danny complicating things again- as usual. He tried to smile, but turned out more like a grimace so he gave up and sighed heavily flipping through the pile of forms he had left to enter.

Danny reached over and touched his hand. "Bullshit." He snorted, "What's up?"

Don arched an eyebrow at him. There really was no way to answer that question, well no _good_ way.

_How do I tell you that _you_ are 'what's up'?_ he wondered, _How can I say that your behavior with _her _is literally tearing me to shreds? Why the hell are you here acting all concerned anyway? What the fuck is wrong with _me?;_ what the fuck is wrong with _you!?_ How dare you come over here and assume that everything is fine between us!...how dare you…._

"Really Donny, tell me what's wrong." Danny pleaded, staring into the others eyes imploringly, "Why have you been so quiet? Are you avoiding me or something?"

"N-no…" Flack stammered. Danny was gently stroking the fingers of his left hand with one of his own, one at a time, starting at his knuckle and slowly sliding down to the tip. The sensation was mind-blowing, dispelling all logical thoughts. Don was so starved for Danny's touch-any contact at all- that even this little show of mild affection made his heart race uncomfortably.

_God! What the hell am I doing? _He suddenly wondered, _Why am I letting him get to me like this? Does he really think that coming over here and acting all concerned and loving will get him into my bed tonight!? Jesus Flack get a fucking hold of yourself!_ The self inflicted admonishment rang only slightly louder than the whimper of pleasure that was on his lips.

"No." he repeated more firmly this time, trying to pull his hand away. "I've been …busy,

I've just got a big case load and had to work a few extra shifts. And I'm just tired okay Danny?"

The blond CSI just gave him a skeptical look while pressing his hand to the desk. "Okay, if you say so. Wanna catch dinner or something?"

Part of Flack wanted to say 'yes', a very fervent and vocal part centered mostly in his belly that _almost _won out, but the more rational, tired and angry part had final say and he smiled apologetically up at Danny.

"Thanks but no thanks. Maybe later this week…I'm really tired and don't feel well…and I'm not that hungry…." He lied, hoping his protesting stomach didn't speak up and give him away. "I just want to go home." _That_ was honest enough, as was the tinge of desperation in his tone.

"Oh okay." Danny said sweetly, letting go of his hand and stroking his hair tenderly, "Get some rest okay? I don't want you to get sick on me…I'm a terrible nurse."

Don snorted in agreement and closed his eyes reveling in Danny's gentle touch for several seconds after it had stopped and Danny left. He gave a unhappy whimper laying his head down on the desk and the pile of papers that would _not_ be finished that night and let out a deep sigh as he watched the other man walk away. His heart continued to pound uncomfortably fast, and his fingers twitched with the urge to inflict the usual pain to steady his jangling nerves.

"Damn you Danny Messer, damn you to hell." He whispered through tightly clenched teeth, "Why do you do this to me? Why!?"

Danny leaned forward on the cold metal lab table and peered through the nearby window at Detective Flack who was standing in the hall outside talking casually with Stella Bonasera. He cocked his head to one side and chewed meditatively on his lower lip as he studied Don's body language. It was so puzzling to him; for weeks now the other man had been avoiding him-he wasn't imagining it- and acting aloof, but only with _him_.

As Danny watched he saw Flack smile and laugh at something Stella said, that gorgeous open, genuine smile that Danny never got any more. He shook his head, "I don't get it! What the hell!" he exclaimed aloud making the lab tech in the room jump and give him a weirded-out look. It made no sense to him, as far as _he_ knew he and Don were fine-better than fine. The last time he and Danny had been 'together' had been amazing, just like it had been for months.

While their relationship as _lovers_ was relatively new, they had been 'best friends' for years and it was strange that Don would treat him so indifferently, even if he was feeling awkward about their 'secret'. Danny _thought_ that he knew Don Flack well, he would bet money on it, but his friend's inexplicable behavior was troubling.

Flack finished his conversation with Stella and started to walk off, she called to him and he turned to answer, catching Danny's glance from the lab window. Danny gave him a tiny wave and blushed a little, and in return- and to his infinite surprise- Don waved back and grinned.

_What the fuck?!_ Danny wondered, _I don't get you at all Don Flack._ He suddenly felt ridiculously paranoid and insecure. What the hell? _Was_ he imagining it all along, or was he just losing his mind in general? There was no way to tell at this point so he resolved to track Don down and….well he didn't know what he would do once he had the other man cornered, but he would _definitely_ get some answers.

Why? Why the hell did he _always _give in?! What the fuck had he been thinking? Why had he let all the sweet talk and kisses carry him away?

"Why am I so weak!?" Don cried, "Why? Why god _why_!?" his head hit the wooden cabinet behind him with a resounding _crack_ that he didn't feel. The alcohol was numbing, but only in a physical sense. He felt nothing, though the blue and white tiles of the kitchen floor were streaked with bright crimson blood, but his mind was less detached from reality.

Danny had been successful in his personal mission of tracking him down and 'cornering' him. They went to dinner, then a bar, one thing led to another and they ended the night in Danny's apartment. But if only it stopped there- Don could have handled it if Danny's flirting hadn't gotten so overwhelmingly strong when they reached a place of privacy and safety. He could have been able to justify drinking a case of beer and passing out dead drunk on the tiny living room floor.

But there was no way on earth or in hell he could reconcile himself with rush to the bedroom, the cool feeling of the sheets on his back, the white hot heat of Danny's body on top of his own. The touch, the fire, the feeling of falling and release, that moment of extreme bliss when they were one and _nothing _else mattered.

Now hours later Don took no pleasure in the act or the memory of it. He had let himself be seduced by Danny and his sweet tones and talk of love-lies- all of it. It was tearing him apart inside, and his self-loathing had been carried out to the highest degree. He hadn't been in his own apartment for ten minutes before the after-sex-buzz wore of and the enormity of his act came crashing down on him. It was awful, it was sudden, it was violent, and it left him reeling for the bottle of SoCo that was sitting- no waiting, like it knew it would be needed- on the kitchen counter.

As the mental images became too much to bear Don downed the amber liquid, almost choking on it along with his tears. Soon he couldn't stand and slid to the floor, the metal knob of a cabinet taking a wide, thin piece of skin out of his back. The pain awakened a sleeping beast inside of him, a creature now well out of his conscious control and with a howl of rage and anguish he smashed the bourbon bottle against the floor in a tremendous explosion of glass and golden dregs.

After the minutest sound of skittering glass fragments died away, still leaving him with the roaring of his own heart in his ears and the infuriating ghosts of his lapse of restraint, Don took the surviving neck of the bottle that was still tightly clenched in his hand and plied the jagged edge to his arm with a vengeance. This wasn't his usual modus operandi of small, shallow, symmetrical cuts; this was the vicious carving of a madman who didn't give a fuck about anything but ridding himself of something malicious that was eating at him from inside.

Don felt dirty, filthy, used. No amount of water would ever remove the grime that he felt clung to him; only blood would make the stains go away. There was not enough blood in his body to cleanse him, and in his insanity he took his pain out on more than his arms, no part of his body was safe. Twin gouges bled profusely from his thighs, the glass cutting deeply through his denim jeans. Uneven scarlet lines ran across his stomach and along his ribs, dripping threads of blood, but still this was not enough; not enough pain to sate the shame or erase the sensations.

Everywhere Danny kissed he cut. Everywhere Danny touched him he made bleed. Soon his stomach and arms looked like a child's frenzied artwork, done in red permanent marker, with no sense of rhyme or reason. But still he couldn't get to the very core of the problem. In a frenzy of revulsion at his stupid, gullible and yielding heart he attempted to gouge the treacherous thing out of his chest. The glass left jagged cuts, deep but not deep enough to stop the beating or end its deceitful ways.

Sobbing convulsively Don let the bottle shard slip from his hand and he collapsed on to the cold tiles. Tiny fragments of the bottle bit in to his already scored skin without notice, and the ruby droplets that stained the floor soon mounted into pools and streams. He was physically and spiritually drained, beyond crying and screaming, beyond even taking any pleasure in his 'work'.

"Why Danny? Why do I let you use me like that?" He whispered, reaching for small piece of glass that was at his fingertips, "Why didn't I stop myself? Why _couldn't_ I!?" The shard cut deeply into the palm of his hand and tightened his fingers around it forming a fist.

Don watched with jaded indifference as the blood oozed from between his fingers. "Why

do I still want you?" he softly asked the phantom Danny that danced in his blurred vision. "_Why do I let myself love you?_"

The following day was just like any other for the two detectives-at least on the _outside,_ but what was going on inside of each of their heads was as un-normal as it was vastly different. Danny Messer was bouncing off the walls of his own skull in his excitement, everything about the night before was still vivid and tantalizing to him. His outward calm belied the pounding of his heart and nervous shaking of his hands every time he thought about Don, or thought he saw him walking by in the hall. He wanted so desperately to go seek out the source of all his internal agitation and maybe abduct him to the locker room and…well just thinking about _that_ made him dizzy.

Don Flack on the other hand had no such glowing feelings about the event, in fact his feelings hadn't changed at all- they had actually gotten worse. Waking up on the kitchen floor surrounded by his own blood and whiskey had only heightened his vehement hatred for himself, and trying to move had been beyond excruciatingly painful. All the clotted wounds reopened with his attempt to get on hands and knees, freshly coating the floor in red as tiny bits of glass ground into the palms of his hands. Every fucking incision needed a bandage of some sort to keep it from ruining his clothes and giving his penitence away. And unlike Danny he did not relish the thought of encountering his lover at all, the very idea made him want to take his service pistol to his skull.

But it was evitable that over the course of the day their paths would eventually cross and not long after Don punched in for his middle shift they had their first encounter-but it was not like either would have supposed. Don was sauntering past the break room on is way to the coffee machine and just happened to glance through the wide open door to see Danny and Lindsey Monroe sitting on the couch-very close together, and talking. In the three seconds he looked he saw her place her hand seductively on Danny's thigh and lean towards him to better display her low cut blouse. And in those short but painful seconds Don also saw Danny look down Lindsey's shirt and smile at her crookedly. His blood began to boil _instantly_ and unfortunately for Danny he chose to look up and see Flack as his face clouded over and with barely veiled contempt turn and stalk off.

_Oh what the hell?! _Danny's brain screamed, "Donny!" he called after the other man. He leaped up, brushing Lindsey off and pursuing the other detective.

He caught up with him not far down the deserted hallway and called his name again. Don ignored him and kept walking fast, forcing Danny to break into a trot to catch up.

"Hey! Will you stop a minute?!" He asked.

"Why should I?" Don snapped back, pausing in his flight long enough to glare at his hunter, "I see how it is."

"What the fuck Don!?" Danny exclaimed, "What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with _me?!_"

"Yeah. What's up with you Donny? You were fine yesterday, and now your…" Danny shrugged, "Didn't last night mean anything to you?"

"Mean anything to _me?!"_ Don parroted back, "_'to me',_ how about to _you_?!" His blue eyes snapped with fire that made Danny wince. "I think _you're _the goddamn problem." He watched in satisfaction as his shot went home and the blond man blanched.

Danny's mouth fell open and he stammered, "I-I don't get it…"

"Evidently." Flack snorted turning away. "Figure it out."

"Hey! Don't just walk away from me!" Danny's hand shot out and grabbed him tightly by the right arm.

Don gasped slightly as sharp burning pain shot up his arm, white hot where Danny's fingers were digging into a wound. Catching the poorly disguised wince of pain Danny stared into his face, then down to where his fingers were quickly being encircled by fresh blood. It was spreading quickly, warm and sticky beneath the dark material of the shirt. With an odd sort of wrench he noticed that Don's hand was carefully wrapped in a dressing that was slightly tinged pink and that stretched up beyond his wrist under his sleeve.

Danny's mouth opened, but Don cut him off. "Let go of me." He hissed pulling his arm free and making the throbbing of the reopened cuts intensify again.

"Donny…." The other man started to say, but anything more was pointless as Don bolted down the hall at a dead run. Stunned, Danny stared down at his bloodied fingers in bewilderment, "What the hell is going on here?!" he asked aloud with a sinking feeling in his gut. Something had gone seriously wrong, a huge miscommunication of some sort, but he was at a loss as to when it occurred exactly and to what it had been. The blood disturbed him and Don's bi-polar reactions frightened him too. But it was the combination of the two that made his heart skip a beat- if the blood and anger meant what he _suspected_ it did, then the situation was potentially dangerous.

He needed to consult with someone discreetly. Danny thought for a second, to go to Mac Taylor their boss would be a bad idea, but who else would know? It came to him and he about faced and made his way towards the basement- and the morgue.

Flack flew to the nearest bathroom and after making sure it was empty bolted the door behind him. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. He just wanted to die. The word 'shit' echoed in his head over and over like a scratched cd as he moved to the sink. The bandage was easy enough to tear off, his current passion lending his violently shaking hands an uncommon dexterity despite the constant numbness found in his fingers.

His cover was blown. _Fuck_. Danny was on to him. _Fuck_. He was bleeding rather profusely. "Fuck!" This time said loudly enough to send the word reverberating off the metal fixtures of the room.

The uneven nature of the cuts made by the rough glass didn't seem to knit was well as straight clean cuts made with a razor. They didn't appear to be closing at all, the edges of the shallowest still showing deep red instead of the desirable pink color associated with early stages of healing and it was several of the deeper gouges that were producing the tell-tale red flow.

Don turned the hot water on full blast and stuck his butchered arm under the steady stream of near boiling water. He had some vague notion of cauterization to stop the bleeding, but really he just wanted to cause himself more pain and since he lacked any sort of blade at the moment burning himself would have to do. It was passable, lacked the little rush that cutting into his own flesh gave him, but right now all that mattered was he made himself _pay_ for what had happened.

"God, God, God!" he whispered bowed over the heavy rising stream. "Why does it have to hurt? Why does it hurt?!" He glanced up at his reflection in the mirror above him and was taken aback at what he saw. Yes of course the mask he wore to work everyday had just been most shockingly shattered, and its absence was to be expected; but the absolute lack of anything recognizable as _himself_ – Don Flack- was highly disconcerting. His face was hollow, empty, missing all the pieces of who he _really_ was, a ghost or a shell was staring back at him, cold and vacant.

Don shivered convulsively, no amount of scalding water would warm the frigid eyes gazing back at him, just like no rivers of blood could bring back the color and the life that had been drained from the pale, expressionless façade. He was crying he saw, but strangely he didn't feel it. He didn't really feel anything at all. _Is this what it's like to die…to be dead?_ he wondered as at last the steam rose high enough to creep over the mirrors' betraying surface, veiling the specter's damning stare.

Danny entered the morgue slightly out of breath and very much flustered. Scanning the big bright room anxiously he didn't immediately see the person he was seeking. He approached the nearest Medical Examiner, "Hey Cid, where's Hawkes?" he asked the grey haired man who peered owlishly up at him over the body of a faceless young woman.

"Third slab from the back," Cid replied pointing the direction with a bloody retractor. "You look upset Danny, everything alright?"

He might as well have just asked the dead body her name, because Danny merely waved his thanks and ran off without even hearing his question. Cid shrugged his shoulders and returned to his bullet wound probing.

Danny scurried carefully between operating tables until he reached the one where Sheldon Hawks was working. Unfortunately the doctor was using a large power saw to remove the leg off his stiff and Danny had to practically jump up and down to catch his attention. Hawkes finally caught the other man's antics out of the corner of his eye and stopped the saw and raised his plastic spatter shield with a questioning look on is face.

"Can I help you with something Detective?" he asked.

"Yeah, I hope so." Danny said, glancing around and after making sure they were relatively alone he tired to phrase his question. But he suddenly realized that this was going to be harder then he first thought. An awkward and delicate subject at best, especially when it involved a mutual colleague with whom you were having _very_ secret liaisons with.

"Have you ever encountered a 'cutter'? You know…one of those people that self-mutilate themselves?" he finally managed.

"Yes. I wrote a paper on it in med school." Sheldon replied. "The tendency is found in adolescents between the ages of 11 through 20, more common in females, but surprising statistics show that it is _more_ common in males than previously thought. The act is typically done in deepest secrecy, the cutter taking a certain amount of pleasure in _hiding_ the act. Weapon of choice is usually a razor blade of some kind- like a box cutter or a disassembled disposable shaver- but kitchen knives and other manner of sharp objects have been seen in studies-it's really a matter of the person's preference. "

Danny shivered slightly at Hawkes' clinical description and chewed at his lip thoughtfully, "What makes someone want to do that to themselves…I mean to _purposefully_ hurt their own bodies…?" it was a sort of rhetorical question, more for himself than his companion.

But the doctor had an answer, "It's believed that in adolescent and teenage cases it's the fluctuation of their developing and raging hormones." Hawkes said with a wry smile, "In older sufferer's depression often drives them back into the old comforting habit of their youth. Cutting is a way of giving the cutter some sort of control in situations they can't cope with. Coupled with a pretty intense endorphin rush it gives a feeling of wellbeing that is addictive and for some just the sight of their own blood is enough to make the self abuse go on for years."

"So basically it's addictive, is used to combat helplessness or depression, and if an adult does it chances are they've done it before?" Danny summarized.

"Yes. In the most fundamental sense you're correct." Hawkes agreed.

"Can cutting lead to more…dangerous things…like suicide?"

Hawkes pondered a second, "Yes it can, particularly in teens and severely depressed individuals. One study I read during my research called cutting 'a cry for help'; if you could see the signs then you could get the person help before it was too late or it became too much of a habit to stop it, but the problem is some of them are so good at hiding it you can't tell."

Danny was quiet for several moments, digesting all the information and mentally trying to apply it to Donny. Sheldon too was trying to relate the information to any of the bodies under his care, but none had shown the signs of the discussed problem nor did any of the other open cases assigned to Detective Messer. He noticed a deep frown appearing on the blond man's countenance and he felt compelled to question his reason of inquiry.

"You come across cutting in a case?" he asked nonchalantly, but carefully studying Danny's open and readable face.

Danny looked up in surprise, his checklist comparison interrupted, "Huh? Oh…yeah…but I'm not sure this is what's going on. It could just be something perfectly innocent and explainable." His lie wasn't very convincing to himself or to Hawkes who continued to scrutinize him with his dark eyes. Squirming slightly under the doctor's gaze Danny decided it was time to beat a retreat.

"Thanks for your help Sheldon," He said with a smile.

"Any time Danny, any time." Hawkes replied replacing his face guard and picking up his saw once again as Danny walked away. Something was afoot, and it most certainly wasn't work related, but fortunately Dr. Hawkes rarely indulged himself in the trials and tribulations of his co-workers and without giving it any more thought he fired up his blade and continued with his delicate amputation.

Meanwhile Danny wandered back towards the lab, where he was sure he was missed. _What the fuck am I gonna do about you Don?_ He wondered, _How can I find out? How can I help you? What's wrong and is it _my_ fault? God Don! If you would just talk to me!_ He was going to have to find Flack, and he was going to have to confront him. It wasn't going to be pretty or pleasant, and could possibly be the death blow to _all_ aspects of their friendship, but he _had_ too. Because he really and truly loved Don Flack he would do it, even if it meant he could only love him from afar and would never receive anything in return, he would do it.

An uneasy forty-eight hours passed for both men, Don avoiding Danny, constantly wondering who else now knew his secret or if Danny even did; and Danny actively trying to _find_ Don at all costs, afraid that it might be too late, or that he had pushed his lover over the edge. The tension was taking its toll on the pair; Don had been reprimanded by Mac on two separate occasions for 'negligence' and 'irresponsibility' and Danny had been severely scolded by the normally passive Stella for breaking a beaker full of caustic chemicals in an attempt to tail Don down the hall.

Whether fortunately or unfortunately Don couldn't hide forever, and eventually Danny would catch a lucky break. But fate could have picked a better place and time for their certain confrontation. Flack had just clocked out and was heading home to his six pack of Bud and a new razor blade he had just snitched from the lab, when rounding a corner _literally_ ran into Danny. It took them both by surprise, their blue eyes locking with something like horror. Don was slow to recover, his heart stopping and his mind getting lost in Danny's eyes, so Danny took the opportunity to take a _tight_ hold on his arm.

"We need to talk. _Now_." He said firmly. Don mutely resisted, trying to free himself of Danny's grasp in a dead panic.

"Let go of me!" Don cried, looking terrified.

"No!" Danny dragged the unwilling Flack to an unused office they had once used for _another_ more pleasurable activity and shoved Don in before him, slamming the door behind. Careful to keep himself between Don and the means of escape, Danny stood arms over his chest studying the other man coldly. Don had moved to a safe distance and was staring back at him like an angry deer in the headlights. He looked wild, dangerous even, Danny noticed; but he refused to be affected by it.

"We need to talk." He repeated.

"About what?" Don asked unpleasantly.

"A couple things actually. Starting with _this._" Danny darted forward and grabbed Don's hand and before he could react or struggle he tore the sleeve of his shirt back revealing the ugly mass of semi-healed cuts.

Don's heart stopped beating. Danny's breath caught in his throat. They both stared.

"Oh my God Don….." Danny breathed, "_why?!_"

Don came back to life with a snap. "Why _what_ Danny? Why do I hurt myself with sharp things? Why would anyone practice self destruction?" he sneered. "Why you care? Or maybe why _I_ don't!?" his voice rose in anger. "Okay I'll tell you _why_. I can't take it! I can't take how you treat me…or our relationship! I'm just a toy to you. Something you have sex with then throw away! You don't love me….and don't bother claiming that you _do_!"

Pale with anger and shaking Don glared at him, and Danny found it hard to understand. "How is this my fault? What do you mean I don't love you!?" He demanded. "I don't get this at all Don. How can anything I've done make you do this to yourself? Its…."he couldn't think of a suitable word.

"You may think its self indulgent, but honestly it's more productive then if I just go through life living a goddamn lie!" Flack shouted at him. "And your pretending that nothings wrong, that we're fine, and that you don't have feelings for _her_…."

"For who?!"

"Lindsey." Don spat the name.

Danny's mouth fell open in shock. "Oh…My ….God…"

"It makes me want to hurt something Danny….it makes me want to hurt _me_ for believing every little lie you tell and the way you make me feel whenever we're together or when I see you….It makes me feel used…" the dark haired detective shuddered and looked down at the floor, "Like I'm worthless, _less _than worthless."

"Oh baby….that's not true…." Danny started. But this only further enraged Don.

"Do you want to see how much you've hurt me?" he asked undoing the buttons of his shirt and holding it open showing his lover the full extent of his private pain.

Danny gasped and felt sick. The wounds that criss-crossed Don's abdomen and chest were finally starting to heal, but the process made them slightly discolored and even more grotesque then if they had been fresh and bleeding. They were so deep, so painful looking. But what made Danny's heart break was the huge deep 'X' that had been carved over Don's heart. That one hurt Danny most. Tears welled in his eyes and with a trembling hand he reached out and gently touched the mark. Don flinched at the contact.

"Donny….I'm so sorry…god I'm so sorry that…." he whispered.

"Thank you for your pity, you're too kind." Don sneered.

"Its not pity damn it! I _am_ sorry I made you do this to yourself!" Danny cried taking the other man by the shoulders and shaking him slightly. "I love you. I love you! And I have _never ever_ had feelings for Lindsey…." disbelief flickered on Don's face, "I just whish I could convince you…." He was loosing him, just like he feared he would, and his resolve wavered. _I can't loose you Don…I love you!_

Don was trembling, Danny could feel it and it made him want to hold him close, to cry hard over him, to swear away his soul, the sun, the moon and the stars just to make him stop all of this. He would do _anything_, just as long as he could keep him. _Anything_.

Danny gently cupped Don's chin in his hand and forced the other man to look at him. "How long have you been doing this?" he asked softly.

"Cutting? Since I was fifteen. But what made me start again? The first time I saw you and Lindsey flirting, she was touching your hair and you were laughing and enjoying it…then you…hugged her…and …" his voice broke and he tried to look away again. He could _still_ feel the pain that had lanced through his chest at the sight, and just as vividly he could feel the bite of that first cut in over eight years. "…and I couldn't help myself. No matter how hard I _try_ to quit I can't, and there's no chance in hell I'll stop now."

Danny just shook his head in disbelief. _Since you were fifteen!? What the hell messed you up so bad?_ he wondered. He couldn't help the tears that started to fall, this was all so ridiculous and if it hadn't been so damn serious he might have laughed hysterically. Danny stroked Don's face and soft dark hair while looking deep into his aquamarine eyes.

"Donny…..Donny, baby, it doesn't have to be that way…." he whispered, "Let me help you….please….please….."

Don's sharp retort died in his throat as he watched the desperation and fear in Danny's eyes. He really_ did_ want to help, this wasn't a lie. But a part of him continued to defy, stubbornly afraid of the pain Danny could inflict, which was worse than any he had ever managed to exact on himself. He swallowed hard, tears prickling, burning in his eyes.

"Baby….I have _never_ felt anything for Lindsey Monroe. I find her kind of annoying actually. I only humor her….I hate when she gets clingy…..Please Donny you _have_ to believe me…._You_ are the _only_ one I want to touch me…to find in my bed…to be with…._I love you_!" Danny was begging now, pleading silently with God to help him convince Flack that this was the absolute truth.

"But….I-…" Don stammered, the tears refusing to be held back any longer, "I saw…."

"_Shhh_….what you saw was what you _wanted_ to see Don." Danny purred, gently brushing tears off his pale face.

A harsh sob escaped from Don's chest, ripping through all his defenses and killing the last of his resistance. He collapsed into Danny's arms, surrendering _everything_; mind, body, soul, heart…all of it. He didn't have the strength to deal with those things by himself- he realized that now. And it amazed him that Danny willingly wanted to take them and fix them, even though to Don Flack they seemed beyond repair.

"I'm sorry….I'm _so_ sorry Danny…" he sobbed convulsively in Danny's chest. "I'm so sorry…I love you too…I can't help it…I just can't…stop…."

Danny held him close, stroking his hair, his back, his tear dampened face. Entwined they sank slowly to the floor. "Shhh…shhh…it's alright now love…its going to be okay…its okay…" he whispered over and over, rocking Don slightly. "It's alright…we'll figure something out….don't worry…..shhh…"

Don was on the verge of hyperventilating, he had _never_ cried this hard in his life, and now that he had started letting all the heartache out in a constructive way he found it was hard to stop. Some of Danny's soothing dialogue was lost in the roaring of his heart in his ears as he struggled to breathe and drag himself back into control of his raging emotions. He was sorry, sorry with all his soul for what he had done- each cut ended up hurting Danny just as much as it had hurt him. Deep down inside that had been the idea all a long Don realized, but what he had never added into the equation of blood and self-inflicted misery was how much _more_ it would hurt to come clean- to admit his horrible indulgence to Danny, and to beg for forgiveness.

"I…I'm so sorry Danny…..I'm so sorry…." He whispered brokenly, "I didn't mean to hurt you…I just wanted…" Don suddenly remembered the razor blade he had taken from the box in the lab just hours before. It was in his back pocket, silently reminding him of his shame. Silently he retrieved it and held it out to Danny.

"Please, _please_ forgive me! Danny please! I want help….god I _want_ to stop…" Don begged, the blade vibrating in his trembling hand, "I will stop I _swear_!… please, _please _just say that you forgive me! That you still want me….that you still love me…."

Danny stared at him for a second, stunned. "Haven't you heard a word I've said Donny?! Of _course_ I still want you and love you…I've said it a hundred times!" carefully he plucked the blade from Don's hand and threw it _hard_ across the room where it bounced off the disused table with a diminutive _ping._ He watched as the pupils expanded in Don's blue eyes in surprise, or was it panic?

"_I love you._" Danny repeated continuing to gaze down into Don's eyes. "I love you Don Flack, and _nothing_ you can do or have done will change that. Do you hear me? _Nothing!_ " he gave his lover a little shake to emphasize the point. Then Danny gently placed his hand over the 'X' on Don's chest, the skin beneath his fingers was fever warm, "These will heal… maybe not forgotten for a while, but the pain will fade…I will make it go away forever baby. Just have some faith in me. We can make this work."

Don caught his breath and his head started to clear. "I think we can too." He managed, but something nagged at his heart as he looked into Danny's face. The truth was he really didn't believe that it would work, not with things the way they were. "But Danny….do we have to keep it a secret? I mean _us_…I don't know if I can take seeing Lindsey laboring under the delusion that she has a chance with you…" his voice trailed off as he felt not quite exactly shame for his jealousy, but he _knew_ himself; and that meant that while there was _any_ excuse for him to cut no matter how small, he would take it.

Danny seemed to sense this, "If that's what you want baby…I'll tell everyone in the _whole damn city_ that you belong to me and I belong to you!" he hugged Don tightly.

"That seems a bit extreme Danny." Don laughed quietly. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, he _cherished_ the scent of his lover; it made him feel safe and calm. And as he breathed it in his body lost all its tension, his heart stopped throbbing wildly, and the dull ache in his head began to abate. He went limp, loosing his death grip on Danny's arm and sighing contentedly.

Feeling this Danny kissed him lightly on the top of the head, and Don looked up at him. "I have a condition to add to this too," he said, "This….mess was all the result of a _huge_ lack of communication. Donny, if something is bothering you…please, _please_ talk to me! If _I'm_ doing something, or your upset about something else…please Don, we need to talk more."

Don nodded, "Cut back my stupid mixed signals. Done."

"It's not just your mixed signals, I'm just as guilty."

"Yeah well….I'm the one that took them so personally."

"I'm the one that never saw that you were."

"Okay, new rule number three," Don sighed, "No more blame taking."

"Done." Danny laughed.

Don smiled, "I love you Danny," he said quietly.

"I love you too Don." Danny replied, stroking the dark hair out of Don's beautiful eyes.

Sitting up within his lover's hold Don touched the side of Danny's face tenderly, feeling him shiver at the contact. Leaning further into the embrace Flack pressed his lips to Danny's in a soft kiss that slowly grew into more. It was Danny's silent promise to love no other _ever_, and that no matter what all would be forgiven; for Don it was his vow to _never _take another blade to his own body, and that as long as he had Danny to pick him up when he fell he wouldn't need anything else.

The room was suddenly getting a tad too warm, and realizing the inevitable result if they continued to carry on at the current pace Danny pulled himself from his lover's kiss. "Hey," he breathed, "weren't you heading home?"

"Yeah?" Don didn't understand how that could be important at a moment like this.

Danny carefully repelled his attempt to kiss again, "I just don't think this isn't the time or place…"

"For what? And why the hell not?" Don demanded, "Let some poor idiot walk in _right now_….Let that Monroe chick, hell let _Mac_ walk in this room right now. I don't give a damn."

"Wow. I guess not."

"You said you wanted to tell the whole City Danny, why not start right here, right now." Don taunted with a provocative grin, "Put your money where your mouth is."

Danny moaned as Don let his hand trail leisurely down his thigh, making his whole body ache. "I'll tell you where I'd _like_ to put it….but my dear….can't we just go to your place first?"

Flack assumed a look of displeasure. "Fine." But his lips twitched in a small smile quite ruining the effect.

Getting up, Danny pulled him to his feet. "Let's go home and finish this conversation."

"Okay," Don agreed, buttoning his shirt and seeing Danny's overly furtive glance at his wounds. He didn't say anything and neither did the other man, but even as Danny took his hand and lead him towards the door Don cast a lingering look at the discarded razorblade. _If old habits 'die hard', then what happens to bad ones?_ he wondered, _Do they just go back into hiding or can you really kick them? Am I free now? Can I really let this go?_ The self-doubt would be the death of him now, how would he ever survive without his crutch?

As they stepped into the hall and the door closed slowly and ominously behind them Danny squeezed his hand and smiled reassuringly at him like he could read his mind and all his sudden misgivings. _That_ was how he would let go, he didn't need the pain or the high, he had _that_. He had Danny Messer, and that would be all the support he would ever need. Don Flack smiled and returned the pressure, unexpectedly filled with a confidence he had never known before- all because he knew in his heart of hearts that he was loved.

_Fin _


End file.
